


Pictures

by thilesluna



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: M/M, Slow Burn, Vacation AU, but i didn't want to lie and say it wasn't just bc the beginning isn't, it will be explicit in later chapters, michael is a photographer, miles is a grad student
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-07-16 12:25:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16086065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thilesluna/pseuds/thilesluna
Summary: Lunael AU where they meet while on a beach vacation. Grad student Miles stumbles across photographer Michael’s beach towel trying to catch a frisbee and the only reason Michael doesn’t kick his ass is that, hell, he’s really, unfairly good looking.





	Pictures

Michael doesn’t want to be here right now. He’s basically in what anyone would consider a tropical paradise but he shouldn’t be on vacation now he’s got _so much_ shit to do. But Lindsay had practically forced it on him. “You’re going to end up breaking your _very_ expensive camera if you keep going like this,” She’d said. “You’re working with clients who are assholes and not taking a break and generally being an idiot.”

Not that it’s his fault that he has to take the asshole clients. He’s pretty much been working non-stop for the last 9 months because he’s _this_ close to getting his own studio instead of having to share with the rest of the guys at Achievement Photography. Gavin, one of the editors and occasional models, has a line on a little studio close to Michael and Lindsay’s apartment and Michael _wants_. And the thing with Michael is when he wants something he fucking goes after it.

“It needs a little work,” Gavin had said as Mica applied his makeup for the shoot they were about to do, “But it’s a really nice building. Burnie, the guy I used to work for, is putting it up for sale next year!”

So maybe Michael isn’t using this vacation to it’s full potential. He’s been crunching numbers for the last hour as he lies on his stupid, lime green blanket that the hotel had given for the beach and generally just _not_ relaxing. The hotel pen and the pad of paper he found in the bedside drawer are covered with numbers and words and even some designs for his new studio. He’s got so much shit to do when he gets back, including a meeting with a client that he fucking _hates_. Michael rubs at his eyes and groans. He needs a drink.

He’s about to sit up and look around for the girl who’s been walking around taking drink order—“The _all-inclusive_ -ness of this resort is the reason I picked it for you,” Lindsay had said—and suddenly there’s sand flying and a huge fucking dude tripping over Michael’s outstretched legs. He shouts, gets a mouthful of sand for his trouble and the next thing he knows, a warm, slightly sweaty body is draped perpendicular directly over his thighs. The asshole is grinning at him with a sand covered face, sticking to his forehead and in his beard, and with a frisbee gripped tight in his hand.

“I caught it!” he proclaims proudly and damn this dude is just— _really cute_ and how long has it been since Michael has gotten laid? Too long if the yesterday’s weekly texts – _here’s a reminder for you to go out and actually get some_ —from Jeremy are any indication. The one the day before he left was particularly asshole-ish, even for Jeremy. _Find somebody to bang on your stupid vacation so when you come back you’re not such a prick!_

“What the _fuck_ , asshole! GET OFF ME!” Michael yells but honestly he’s lucky it didn’t come out _get me off_ because that’s where his fucking brain is right now. Despite being on the beach and in the hot sun, the warmth of this guy across his legs is actually kind of nice and _what the fuck_ brain, Michael thinks. It’s _really_ been to long since he got laid.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry!” The guy scrambles to his feet, brushing himself off and raining sand all over Michael and his blanket. He grins sheepishly and offers a hand to help Michael stand and Michael shoots him one of The Jones Glares™ but accepts it. The guy doesn’t seem phased, just keeps grinning and damn, the guy’s hand is warm and gritty, the sensation of the sand again Michael’s skin is surprising and different and _nice_. “Are you okay?”

Michael very nearly wrenches his hand away when he realizes that they’re still connected but schools his features and carefully withdraws it instead. Score. “I’m fine. Just watch where you’re going, you fuck,” he spits out. And normally? Normally Michael’s glare and his growl and his tattoos scare people away but this guy just laughs and claps one of his big hands on Michael’s shoulder before tucking the Frisbee under his arm and offering out his other hand to shake.

“I’m Miles,” he says, like he didn’t just disrupt Michael’s whole afternoon—and okay, maybe he was just sulking about all the stuff he has to do when he gets home and maybe he wasn’t really enjoying the sun and surf like he’s supposed to be doing, but it’s the principle of the thing, right?

He stares at Miles for a moment, eyes narrowed. He sighs and makes show of brushing the sand from his body—he doesn’t miss the way Miles’ eyes track the movement and files that away for later, like maybe when he's alone in his room kind of later...it's been a _really_ long time—before taking his hand and shaking it once. “Michael.”

"Awesome," Miles says, which in context doesn't make much sense but he's smiling wide like he just won the goddamn lottery and Michael can stop himself from returning it. The amount of charm exuding from this motherfucker is _ridiculous_. They stand there in silence for a few seconds and Michael reaches behind his head to scratch at the back of his neck just as something to do because Miles still has a hand on his shoulder. That seems to jolt Miles out of whatever train of thought he'd wandered off on—Michael knows the look on his face, it's the same one Geoff gets when he's trying to figure something that's a good four steps down the line of what they're actually working on—and he finally removes his hand from Michael's space and chuckles. "So like, I feel really, _really_ bad about fucking up your beach time. Can I buy you a drink to make up for it?"

Michael almost laughs because it's all-inclusive, dumbass, but then he thinks about it and, "Like, off the hotel grounds?" he blurts out, sounding like a fucking _nerd_. He's lucky his damn voice didn't crack.

Miles laughs again, his head thrown back and his whole body shaking. Michael wonders idly how many times that laugh and that smile have gotten him out of trouble. "Yeah," he says. "My buddy's family is from around here and I can text him for some good recommendations."

"I, uh," Michael says, very intelligently. He hears Lindsay's voice—god if he had known 6 years ago that she'd become his best friend and then somehow the voice of his fucking conscious he would never have agreed to take the pictures at her sisters baby shower—say _Don't fuck this up, Jones. Go out and get some!_ and he finds himself nodding and saying, "Um, sure. I mean you do owe me for getting sand all up in literally everything."

If it's even possible, Miles' grin seems to grow wider and his cheeks pink. Michael feels a little better knowing he's not the only one who's a little thrown. He bends down and scoops the pen off his blanket and then stretches out his hand. Miles stares down at it for a moment before Michael sighs and grabs at Miles' forearm. He twists Miles' hand just enough to scribble down his room extension and, after a second of consideration, his cell phone number on his wrist.

"Call me like, an hour before you want to leave," Michael says and Miles nods, still looking like the cat that got the canary.

“You got it,” he replies, cradling his arm to his chest like the way a child would hold a treasured toy.

A voice cuts through the very obvious moment they’re having and Miles winces before his face turns bright red. “Miles, stop flirting and bring back the Frisbee!” a guy with impressive eyebrows and a mischievous grin waves at them from a little ways down the beach.

“I, uh, well damn,” Miles says, dissolving into nervous laughter. “This just got significantly awkward. Michael covers his mouth to hide his smile, but Miles totally sees it. “I guess I, um, I better go.”

“I guess you should,” Michael replies, peering around Miles’ shoulder. “He looks like he’s about to yell more embarrassing things at you.”

Miles shoots him one last grin and turns to jog away before he stops suddenly. He faces Michael again. “For the record,” he says, “I absolutely _was_ flirting. Just making that clear.”

Michael scoops up his sunglasses and slides them on. “Glad it wasn’t just me then,” he responds, and god damn, if Miles’ smile isn’t blinding.

\------

It’s a couple hours and a slight burn later that Michael goes back to his room. He hops in the shower and, as you do, contemplates both his life and his choices. If he’s being honest, he’s not super confident in _either_ at the moment.

It’s one thing to go out on a date but it’s somehow _different_ here. When Michael goes out at home, he goes with his friends and _if_ he picks someone up he’s got people who know about it. Here? Here he can do pretty much whatever and it’s all _his_. He won’t have to explain to Lindsay where he was last night, won’t have to deal with texts from Gavin about how he ended up with bruises on his neck—there was this one girl who was _way_ to into marking up his skin—or get shit from Geoff if he decides to just head back to his room alone.

It’s kind of freeing, actually.

And it’s not like he doesn’t want to grab a drink with Miles. The guy is cute and funny and he’s got a laugh that’s disgustingly infectious, he thinks as he runs a towel over his hair. The sun has really started to set now and his room is filled with orange light as he leaves the bathroom to pick through whatever clothes Lindsay had helped him pack to find the bottle of aloe he’d tucked in the bottom of his suitcase. His nose and cheeks are pink and the tops of his shoulders feel a little warm so he rubs on the sticky green gel and waits for it to dry while considering his options for outfits.

 _Miles hasn’t even_ called _yet, idiot_ , Michael thinks to himself when he tosses a third shirt to the side. “Ugh this is fucking stupid. He’s not even going to call and I’m getting myself all worked up over fucking _nothing_!” He throws himself backward onto the bed, with a towel still wrapped around his hips.

Which is, of course, when the phone rings.

Michael scrambles to his feet, nearly knocking the phone off the bedside table in his rush to answer it. “Fuck—god damnit—hello?”

That infectious fucking laugh comes over the line. “Michael? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I’m just a fucking idiot,” he grumbles.

“Aren’t we all?” Miles says wistfully. “No one is perfect. Well, no one except Dwayne Johnson, but I’m not even sure he’s actually a person and not a demigod.”

Michael laughs. “Yeah dude, seriously. That guy is cut and he’s like…a good dude. It’s scary.”

Miles chuckles and then the line goes quiet. Michael hears Miles take in a deep breath. “So.”

“Yes?”

“Listen I know I was kind of an ass earlier and I also don’t want this to be like a pressure thing where we were in a public place and my friend was yelling and you only said yes so I would like fuck off and leave you alone—“ he’s talking so fast that Michael can barely keep up.

“Miles,” Michael tries, grinning.

“And like I would totally get that! I definitely would but I was one-hundred percent not joking in that I want to take you out tonight for drinks—“

Michael has to cover his mouth to stop himself from laughing. “Miles,” he says again, but the man powers right on through.

“See the thing is you’re like _super_ hot? And I almost never just trip over people and then accost them into going out to drink with me but—“

“MILES!” Michael finally yells into the phone and the line goes quiet. “What about our first interaction makes you think I’d say yes if I didn’t want to?”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, _oh_ , dumbass,” he laughs. “So what’s the plan?”


End file.
